


The Unpublished Diary of David Wong

by chainsawdog



Category: John Dies at the End - David Wong
Genre: Alcohol, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-16 17:58:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14170419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chainsawdog/pseuds/chainsawdog
Summary: Holy shit you guys, I know Dave's never gonna publish this but I absolutely had to. I found it in his diary under his bed. He'll probably be pissed with me but damn, he should get into Mills and Boon or some shit. Off the record, though, this all happened. Pretty much.- John.P.S. Okay, I might have posted this when I was drunk. Sue me. Fuck it, I mean, I'm happy now, which is pretty fucking great. Just read it, and remember that Dave tends to understate my sick karate skills.





	1. John Tries to Comfort Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It goes about as well as you'd expect.

Long, shitty story short, Amy went back to College and told me that we were on a 'break,' because, apparently, every time she looked at me she saw the body of Molly. So, yeah. That fucking sucked. I told her she should stay, and that we could work through this together, but she had to finish her college course anyway.  
  
That, of course, left a huge hole in my life and my heart, complimented by the hole in my paycheck and the hole where John and I had burned my house down. I'm not being dramatic, I swear. My whole future had been tied up in Amy, which sounds kind of pathetic now that I say it, but it didn't at the time, you know? Not when she'd put as much into our relationship as I had.  
  
John's idea of cheering me up usually contained some sort of drugs or alcohol, but tonight he'd just ordered pizzas and set up a video game on his new "don't ask me where I got it" TV. It was a really nice TV — a 42 inch LCD TV that looked pretty much brand new. John had some violent video game hooked up to it, and a suspicious lack of beer. John would never use the word "alcoholic," and I wasn't one to judge, but he sure did drink a lot. It made this fucked up world easier to deal with, even before the Soy Sauce. Now we could see even more of the fucked up shit that the world hid in its shady corners, and drinking helped both of us sleep. Since Amy had left, I'd tried for a week or so to avoid alcohol, but the temptation was just too strong. John did his best to help, but he relapsed frequently. Sometimes I thought we'd benefit from rehab, but who the fuck could actually afford that sort of help? So there had been a week and a bit of sobriety, then maybe two weeks of benders, then another few weeks of coming down. If it wasn't for my phone, I wouldn't have known what month it was.  
  
John threw me a controller, not taking his eyes off the screen as I came into the room. I barely caught it, nearly dropping it on the tiled floor, and swore.  
  
'Dude, those things are expensive,' I said, throwing myself into the seat next to John. I had to wait for John to jump back to the main menu so I could join in multiplayer.  
  
'I have a guy,' John replied.  
  
'Sure you do,' I said. John always had someone — a contact, a friend, a guy — who would supply him with all sorts of bullshit. John was unfortunately, naturally charming.  
  
'So,' said John. 'Things are really fucked, huh?'  
  
I glanced at him, but he was glued to the TV.  
  
'No more than usual,' I said, as nonchalantly as I could.  
  
'You still got nowhere to stay, right?'  
  
'Uh, yeah,' I said. 'Why? You offering?'  
  
John turned to me and smiled cheerfully. 'Yep,' he said.  
  
'What?' I asked.  
  
'You can stay here, Dave,' John said. 'Seriously. I got a couch and everything.'  
  
It shouldn't have felt like a weird offer. I'd stayed at John's before, and he'd crashed at mine, and we'd both spent sleepless nights in his Caddie. We were friends, that happened. Look, we'd even shared a bed a couple of times. Nothing happened. I didn't sleep so well when we shared a bed, though, and for a while I couldn't figure out why. I wasn't scared of John, and he slept like someone who'd been hit with a brick. I'd catch myself watching John sleep sometimes, and then freak out because what if he woke up while I was staring at his face? What if he thought I was gay?  
  
I mean, John probably wouldn't care. I don't care if someone's gay, not really, but like… who wants to wake up to a friend watching them sleep? Of course you're gonna think something's up. And John wouldn't let me live it down, either. He'd find ways to joke about it, because he's John. He joked about everything.  
  
'Yo,' said John, waving his hand in front of my face. 'Dude, I just killed you like, three times. You still in there?'  
  
I turned to look at him, and I must have looked high, because he asked, 'You on the Sauce, Dave?'  
  
I shook my head. 'Uh, no,' I said. 'I got… distracted.'  
  
John grinned, turning back to the game. 'So, when are you going on the rebound?' he asked.  
  
'C'mon, man,' I said. 'It's too soon. And, besides, Amy might…' my voice caught in my throat, and I had to grit my teeth to stop myself from crying. Yeah, sure, I'd cried in front of John before. It wasn't macho bullshit or anything, I just didn't want to cry.  
  
John patted my knee, and I jumped.  
  
'She'll come around,' he said. He squeezed my knee, and I looked at him in shock. He noticed.  
  
'What?' he asked. Then he seemed to notice his hand on my knee, and looked up at me, raising an eyebrow. 'You okay there, Dave? You want me to say "no homo" or something?'  
  
'Uh, nah, um,' I said. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 'Just. I've had a weird day.'  
  
John, the shithead he is, moved his hand up my thigh. I slapped his hand away.  
  
'Seriously?' I asked. 'What about that made you think that'd be okay?'  
  
John's smile vanished and he moved back. 'Sorry, Dave, sorry,' he said. 'I was just fucking with you.' He paused. 'I'm serious about you staying here, though. That's why I'm sober, so you wouldn't think it was some bullshit offer from Drunk John.'  
  
I nodded. 'Yeah,' I said. 'I'll stay here. Till I find my own place.'  
  
John grinned. 'Nice,' he said. 'And I get it,' he lifted one hand like he was making a solemn vow. 'It's completely platonic. No thigh-squeezing.'  
  
Even when he was being an asshole, John could make me smile. Fuck him.


	2. I Have An Epiphany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And take a cold shower.

I lay on the couch that night staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep, waiting for Molly to come by and nudge my hand. Then I remembered that Molly was dead.  
  
Then I remembered that Amy had left me.  
  
And _then_ I remembered how it felt to have John's hand on my thigh so I got up and headed to the bathroom for a cold shower. I didn't need this shit, not at this time of night. It was probably just the depression from losing Molly and Amy. I was confused, and sad, and lonelier than I'd ever been before meeting Amy. Yeah, that was it. As I stood under the freezing water, the fuzz in my brain started to clear.  
  
My erection went away, too.  
  
I banged my head against the glass of the shower and swore quietly. Not John. Anyone but John.  
  
Well… maybe not "anyone." There were a lot of people worse than John.  
  
'Oh, hey Dave.'  
  
I nearly shit myself. Too much time alone with the knowledge that shadow people actually existed had led me to be on edge whenever I was in a vulnerable position. It didn't get much more vulnerable than naked in someone else's shower.  
  
Of course, it was just John, up for a midnight piss. I'd seen his dick before (that sounds bad — he sent me a dick pic accidentally a while back) so it didn't bother me too much, but he'd just _had_ to walk in on me having a gay crisis.  
  
'Hey… John,' I said. 'Have you ever heard of knocking?'  
  
'Hm?' said John, and I had the feeling he hadn't heard me.  
  
'I'm naked,' I said.  
  
'People usually are when they shower,' he replied. 'Wait, did you want me to leave? Cause I could've pissed in the sink, but you can't ask a man to stop mid-stream.'  
  
I banged my head against the glass again. 'I wouldn't dream of it,' I replied tiredly.  
  
John chuckled, and somehow I knew he was shaking his dick. He flushed, but didn't wash his hands, either because he just didn't do that or because I was in the shower.  
  
I told myself to stop thinking about his dick, but that made me think about his dick even more.  
  
'You thinking about my dick?' asked John, and I nearly had a heart attack.  
  
'About how small it is,' I said, trying to sound relaxed.  
  
'Still means you're thinking about it,' said John.  
  
'Goodnight, John,' I said forcefully.  
  
'Goodnight, babe,' he said, and in that moment I absolutely could have slapped him.  
  
I went back to the couch feeling even worse than before. What the fuck, Dave? And more to the point, what the fuck Little Dave?  
  
Look, yeah, maybe at one time I'd had a crush on John. Maybe I'd worked really hard to get rid of it. Maybe I deserved a fucking break. Maybe for a few years I'd tried my best not to feel anything at all, and maybe that had been a bad idea because I'd read in some psychology textbook that repressing shit made it come back stronger later.  
  
Well, actually, that was bullshit. I didn't read a psychology textbook. Dr Marconi had told me that before he'd left Undisclosed after the whole spider thing. It had been because of the whole spider thing, but I was pretty sure I hadn't repressed that, because I remembered most of it.  
  
Unsurprisingly, the shower didn't help me sleep. I stared up at the ceiling and tried not to think about crawling into bed with John. Shit, maybe I was gay. Straight guys probably didn't think about that sort of thing. Did they? Did straight guys want to cuddle their male friends? I really did miss Amy, so how could I be gay? There was probably a word for it, which I could look up on the internet, but that would have taken more effort than I was willing to put in. I tried to remember the word, but it kept escaping me. Bi… annual? Bi something. 

  
  


It hit me the next morning when I was eating cereal out of the box.  
  
'Bisexual!' I said, probably a little too loudly.  
  
John looked up at me from the couch, where he was making a sandwich out of pop-tarts and whipped cream.  
  
'What?' he asked.  
  
'I just remembered a word,' I said. 'Don't worry about it.'  
  
'Sounded like you said "bisexual,"' said John. 'Are you discovering things about yourself, Dave?'  
  
I rolled my eyes. 'Shut up,' I said. 'It was in a crossword puzzle I was trying to do last night.'  
  
'Sure,' said John. 'What was the clue? "Something Dave realized recently?"'  
  
'Would you just stop?' I asked. 'What are you trying to achieve here, John?'  
  
John grinned, and shrugged, and went back to his pop-tart monstrosity. I stared at him for a moment, genuinely confused. I was absolutely sure he was fucking with me, but there was a tiny, traitorous part of me that hoped he was on my level. That somehow I would be lucky enough, that the stars would align, that my insignificant self would finally have something work out in my favor, after I'd lost everything for the millionth time.  
  
Then John's phone rang, and I was jolted out of my pathetic daydream and back into reality. The reality where Amy had left me, and I was stuck in an apartment with a guy who I really didn't want to have feelings for. Ugh. It felt so cheesy to say it like that, like I was some sort of girl John had picked up one summer who'd caught feelings when everyone who knew John knew he couldn't make a meaningful romantic connection if it bit him on the ass. Was it better or worse than saying I wanted to fuck him?  
  
Better. Definitely better. Being vague about it meant I didn't have to think about it, not really, and I know I was probably already damned but I'd be more damned if I let something like this get between me and my best friend. Also, I didn't actually know how two guys would fuck. Call me ignorant, but I'd never even watched gay porn.  
  
Actually, no, I had - once, when I was drunk, with John and the rest of his band, Three-Armed Sally. I left before things got really involved, and at the time I assumed it had something to do with something I'd never wanted to think about again. From what I remember, John had actually come after me that night. He was one of the few people who knew the real reason behind why I'd been sent to that special-ed school. We shared a blunt, and made tasteless jokes that I don't really remember.  
  
Oh, and that was the night John kissed me. I never felt bad about that kiss, and I remember actually asking John if he'd ever thought about kissing me. His answer had been, 'Dave, of all the guys in the world, you're the one that…' and after losing his train of thought, he'd kissed me.  
  
It was nice, despite the fact he'd tasted of nicotine, weed, and beer. I'd never kissed someone with stubble before, which was an interesting sensation. I'm pretty sure I dropped my beer, because a moment later there was beer and glass on the wooden deck. John lifted a hand to my cheek, but it happened to be the one holding the blunt, and I jerked back with a shout.  
  
'Fuck!' I said, pressing my fingers to my cheek.  
  
'Oh, shit,' John said, giggling. He offered me the blunt. 'Here, you finish it. You deserve it.'  
  
His laughter was infectious, and soon I was laughing too, taking the last few hits from the thing that had burned a small hole in my face. We laughed like this was the funniest fucking thing that had ever happened to either of us.  
  
Once I managed to catch my breath, I said, 'You really just kissed me.'  
  
John smiled in that infuriatingly charming way, and replied, 'Yeah. I guess I did.'  
  
I'd actually been expecting a witty remark, something droll, or even a trademark dirty joke. John seemed genuinely breathless, leaning against the wall, running a hand through his hair and grinning.  
  
'That was pretty fucking fun,' he said. 'You have really soft lips, Dave, did you know that?'  
  
I stared at him, and I could feel myself blushing. 'Uh —' I said.  
  
John's eyes widened, and he straightened up. 'Shit,' he said. 'You were okay with that, right? I wouldn't — I mean —'  
  
I nodded. 'Yeah, yeah,' I said. 'Yeah, it was fine. Just. Weird, I guess.'  
  
John immediately relaxed, his lips curling into a smile. I told myself not to notice the curve of his neck, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed.  
  
'Damn, Dave,' he said. 'You scared me for a moment. I thought I'd really fucked up.'  
  
I shook my head. 'Nah,' I said. I didn't add that he couldn't ever fuck up. Partly because John did fuck up, a lot, but also partly because that kiss had been one of the best kisses I'd ever had. It took months to move that kiss to the back of my mind.

  
  
  
I blinked, realizing that John was clicking his fingers under my nose.  
  
'Dave? You with us?' he asked.  
  
I looked at him, and for a moment I was sure I saw real concern in his eyes.  
  
'Sorry,' I said. 'I spaced out.'  
  
'Yeah, for like a solid minute,' said John. 'Are you off your meds or something? Is this because of Amy?' He paused, and when I didn't answer, he said, 'I'd suggest we get drunk, but apparently someone in town is experiencing weird shit, so we should probably stay sober.'  
  
I blinked at him again.  
  
John frowned. He steered me into a chair. 'Dave, you up for this?' he asked. 'I need you at your best.'  
  
I couldn't stop watching his lips as he spoke. Something had come over me, I couldn't concentrate. I felt kind of high, but I hadn't taken anything.  
  
'Was there something in that cereal?' I asked dazedly.  
  
John upended the box on his table, and shuffled the cereal bits around. Some fell off the table. He shrugged.  
  
'Not that I can see,' he said, then popped a handful into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. 'Doesn't taste like cocaine, just sugar. You… Dave, you've been really off these last few days.' He knelt in front of me, looking up at my face. Then John said a phrase that barely ever came up in our conversations. 'Do you want to talk about it?'  
  
I looked at him in shock. Then I burst into laughter. John hesitated for a moment, then joined in, resting his face in the crook of his arm, which was pressed against the table. I held onto his shoulder as I laughed, and even though I knew I was on the edge of hysteria but I didn't care. I was with John. Nothing else mattered in that moment. I could have any number of crises, any number of bad days, any number of rock bottoms, and John would always be there. My laughter slowed to a stop, and I sat back. John wheezed, trying to get his laughter under control.  
  
'Shit, dude,' he said, leaning back. 'What the fuck is wrong with us?'  
  
I smiled, my face sore from laughter. 'Where the fuck do I start?' I said.  
  
He looked up at me again, and I could have sworn there was something tender in his expression. I told myself it was wishful thinking. Getting to my feet, I asked, 'So what's the job?'  
  
John clapped me on the shoulder, and my breath caught in my throat.  
  
Shit. I was gay.


	3. We Go to Save the Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But it's always a bit more complicated than that, isn't it?

I rode shotgun in the Caddie like I always did, but this time I kept glancing at John when I thought he wasn't looking. The streetlights outlined his silhouette in a way I could barely look away from. Of all the bullshit that's ever happened in my life, I swear this was the most unfair. John would hate me for saying this; he's not the most stunning man on Earth, no matter how much he'd tell you otherwise. He's got nice eyelashes, and his eyes are somewhat hypnotic, sure. He probably wouldn't win Time Magazine's "Hunkiest Man of the Year," but he's reasonably fit despite his growing beer gut. I hate to admit it, but John has a really nice voice. He can really sing.  
  
That night, however, I noticed heaps more about him. How his shabby look and ruffled hair _really_ suited him. The stubble that always seemed to be at the same level of growth. I wondered how much effort John actually put into his appearance. And, yeah, I caught myself looking at his neck again, and his hands. I absolutely refused to let my gaze drop any lower than that. Then I would be too far gone.  
  
John made me laugh. Like I'd said before, he was almost always there. Not that he answered my calls, or anything, but he'd appear in those moments when I genuinely needed him. I closed my eyes and leaned back in my seat. John and I had spent most of our lives together at this point. We had shared trauma, shitty childhoods, and the Sauce had chosen the two of us to either save the Universe or destroy it. I couldn't fuck this up.  
  
Then I remembered the feeling of John's hand on my knee. Then I remembered the feeling of his lips on mine.  
  
Maybe John wanted to fuck this up, too.  
  
We arrived at the house faster than I'd expected, with no time for conversation. John didn't bother parking properly — he never did. He just sort of threw the parking brake on when he was off the road enough that other drivers would miss his car.  
  
The person who'd called us was a woman — we'll call her June — who had been experiencing weird shit in her house. Not rats, or anything, but serious stuff, like the walls bleeding. Screaming from the basement at ungodly hours of the night. That sort of thing.  
  
John and I loaded up our arsenal from the trunk of the Caddie, and headed to the front door.  
  
John knocked. Three short, sharp raps that went unanswered. He knocked again. Nothing.  
  
I pressed the doorbell. A cheery little tune rang out in the still night. We sighed in unison, and were about to leave when we heard the scream. We shared a look, then John tried the door. It was unlocked. The door creaked theatrically as we entered the house, John with his baseball bat raised and me with my Smith  & Wesson at the ready. There was a tin of mints in my pocket, which would only be useful if whatever we were facing opened its mouth at an opportune moment. Hey, it had worked before.  
  
'Hello?' John called out, breaking one of the most basic horror movie rules.  
  
'What do you expect when you do that?' I whispered.  
  
'Hm?' said John.  
  
'Like, do you think they'll reply?'  
  
'Actually, I thought the homeowner might let us know if she was, you know, home,' said John.  
  
I looked at him, surprised that he'd actually thought something through. Look, it's John. He's famous around Undisclosed for doing dumb shit. It almost always worked out for him, though, even the Soy Sauce. I seriously didn't know how he did it.  
  
An aside: at this point John hadn't told me anything about his week-long depression, around the time he thought he'd seen my brains on the floor of a port-a-potty. He hadn't mentioned how he'd taken my apparent death. There was no talk of how he'd basically shut down, hadn't been able to function, had pretty much lost all hope. John; who was up for anything, who had saved the universe more than once. John; my best friend, the guy who could drag me out of a depression, who encouraged me to do stupid shit because he knew it would cheer me up. John; who seemed to be powered by an internal motor of infinite use, who never stopped even if he hit a giant barricade covered in rejected advertisements.  
  
To end that aside — yeah. I didn't know, really, how much John cared about me. I mean, I knew he cared, you know? But shit, I would never have thought he couldn't go on without me. If I had known…  
  
Five minutes of rummaging around the living room and kitchen turned up nothing, not even the woman who'd called us. There was a chill in the air, which I thought was suspicious until I realised John had left the front door open. I went to close it, and heard John say, 'Why'd you leave the door open, Dave?'  
  
My hand hovered near the doorknob, and I looked over my shoulder at John.  
  
'I thought… you'd left it open…' I said slowly.  
  
John gave me a grin that didn't put me at ease. 'Must have been the wind,' he said, in a voice that sent actual shivers down my spine.  
  
I moved away from the door, giving John a pointed look. 'Ha ha,' I said. 'Very funny.'  
  
John twirled his baseball bat, and I sighed.  
  
'Come on, Dave,' said John. 'Live a little.'  
  
I gripped the handle of my gun, and followed John deeper into the house. The lights were out in the hallway, and the basement door was wide open.  
  
'I don't see any blood,' I said.  
  
John kicked the trim at the base of the wall, and said, 'Bleed, damnit! Dave needs this!'  
  
'Thanks, John,' I said, moving past him and looking down into the basement. 'Hey, does this look exactly like you imagined?'  
  
He leaned past me to look down the stairs. 'Dark and scary?' he asked.  
  
'Yeah, and I can't see the bottom,' I said.  
  
John sniggered.  
  
'Shut up,' I said. 'But, yeah, I think this is… where the house wants us to go.'  
  
John put a hand on my shoulder, and said solemnly, 'Paper, scissors, rock?'  
  
There was no time to play. A woman called out from the basement, begging for someone to "please, come help!" I looked at John. John looked at me. It was entirely inappropriate, but in that split second I almost got distracted. We were standing really, really close.  
  
'What?' asked John.  
  
'Dude, what did you eat?' I asked, and headed into the basement.

  
  


The darkness in that basement was literally absolute. I got halfway down the stairs before I had to stop.  
  
'What's wrong?' asked John.  
  
I turned around, and as I did, I felt a hand on my shoulder. John's eyes widened, and in slow motion I saw him raise his arm like it would help me from being dragged into the darkness.  
  
There's no way anyone can prove that I screamed.  
  
The darkness was solid, and crept into my body through too many of my holes. I did scream, okay, but who wouldn't in that situation? I could feel it against my skin, oily and sulfuric, leaking in through my pores and forcing its way into my brain up my nose and through my mouth. I wanted to vomit but I couldn't, there was too much going down my throat the other way. My heart raced, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't see — and this wasn't the normal type of darkness, this wasn't something eyes could adjust to, this was pure darkness, and it crushed me, body and soul.  
  
I heard screaming, and I wasn't sure if it was me or someone else. Voices whispered at a hundred miles an hour inside my head. They told me things I didn't want to think, things that I pushed down and down and down again. Each came bubbling to the surface, telling me that I was worthless, stupid, disgusting, fat, no wonder Amy had left. That I was a waste of space, I was useless, I would hurt everyone I loved, that John hated me, that I was a burden to John, that John had no reason to be my friend, how _dare_ I think I could be anything to him.  
  
Then I felt a different pressure, hands around my ankles, and the sensation of being pulled, and the sound of slurping, and then I was in the light again, my head hitting the ground, and I rolled onto my chest and threw up on the carpet.  
  
John sat next to me, panting, leaned against the wall of the hallway. He laughed. 'Fuck me,' he said. 'That's worse than bleeding walls.'  
  
I threw up again. My head was swimming, and I wasn't sure in the dim light if I was throwing up black bile or regular vomit. John seemed to notice, and leaned forward to pat me on the back. With his foot, he slammed the basement door shut.  
  
I don't know how long I was there on all fours, John rubbing my back, whatever I'd thrown up soaking into the carpet and soaking my hands. John stayed with me, and didn't speak, which I knew meant he was being serious. When I rolled to the side, my eyes wet, my nose dribbling, and my mouth on fire, John put his hand on my shoulder and let me rest against his legs.  
  
'What did you see down there?' he asked eventually.  
  
I shook my head and closed my eyes.  
  
'Nope,' said John. He put his hands under my armpits and hauled me to my feet. 'You're not sleeping in this hell-hole of a house. Come on, David, you need a shower.'  
  
Somehow John managed to walk me outside, where I fell over again. I grazed my knee on the sidewalk, and John had to help me stand again.  
  
'You've walked better than this when you've blacked out,' John observed casually. 'That basement must have been fucking awful.'  
  
I nodded wordlessly.  
  
John put his arm around my shoulders, despite the vomit on my hands and the fact that I was disgusting. I rolled my head back. John guided me to the car.  
  
  
  
I don't remember the drive back to his place, but I remember him helping me into the bathroom. I stood there, still dazed, arms hanging at my sides. John looked at me, hands on hips.  
  
'You take it from here,' he said.  
  
I stared at him.  
  
John crossed his arms. 'Dave, you remember how to shower, right?' he asked.  
  
I stared at him.  
  
'I'm not undressing you, Dave,' he said.  
  
I sat on the floor and looked at my hands. John disappeared, then returned with two rolls of kitchen paper under his arms. He knelt in front of me and wiped most of the vomit off my hands and face. Then he slapped my cheek and said, 'Dude, wake up.'  
  
I looked at him.  
  
'Dave, you're starting to actually worry me,' John said. 'Come on, man.' He got to his feet, and said, 'I'll run you a bath, how about that?'  
  
I actually heard the sound of water running behind me. I groaned, and fell forward. I could feel the muscles in my legs screaming as I stretched them. I never stretched, I didn't exercise enough, and I was a useless lump who made everyone else take care of him. John pulled me back up.  
  
'David,' he said. 'I will put you in that tub with all your clothes on.'  
  
I looked at him.  
  
'Come on, dude,' said John. 'Are you just gonna keep staring at me?'  
  
I opened my mouth to speak, and burst into tears. John stared at me for a moment, then surprised me by pulling me into a hug. I pressed my face against his shoulder, sobbing, and he put his arms around me and rubbed my back.  
  
His voice trembled a little as he said, 'What the fuck happened in there, man? I've never seen you like this.'  
  
I shook my head.  
  
'Okay, you don't have to tell me, but…' John leaned back to looked at me. Tears streamed down my face. 'We gotta deal with this.' He set his jaw, then got to his feet. I heard him leave the room, and sat where I was, unsure if he wanted me to follow.


	4. John Tries to Cheer Me Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And it almost works.

I woke up on the floor of the bathroom, soaking wet. Sitting up, I realised that the bath had overflown. John still wasn't back. I turned off the taps and stood there, dripping wet, staring at the clean water. With a sigh, I stripped my clothes off and left the room to get changed. Someone was going to have to mop that up, and it wasn't going to be me. Not in the state I was in.  
  
I couldn't find my own clothes; John must have "cleaned" the place, and he'd apparently hidden my things. So I went into his room, and stole a shirt and a pair of pants from his haphazard closet. Trying not to notice how those clothes smelled of him, I dressed, then threw myself onto his bed. 

  
  


A strange, wet sensation on my nose that pulled me out of the depths of sleep. My eyes snapped open, and I was faced with the wet nose and furry snout of a puppy dog. It licked me again, and I jerked back, nearly falling out of the bed. I heard John laughing, and when I managed to sit up I saw that he was sitting on the other side of the bed, holding the puppy so it couldn't chase after me.  
  
'What?' I asked blearily.  
  
John grinned. 'I got you a dog!' he said cheerfully.  
  
'What?' I repeated.  
  
'Yeah, I found her at the pound.'  
  
'John —'  
  
'I was thinking "what could cheer me up, other than booze or sex?" and then I realised I was near the pound so I stopped there and, well, now we have a dog.'  
  
'John!' I said. I couldn't help it — I smiled. 'John, we barely took care of Molly. We can't be responsible for —'  
  
John put his finger on my lips to shut me up, and it worked. I was taken by surprise. He put the puppy in my lap, and she looked up at me, wagging her tiny tail, licking my chin. For a moment I couldn't focus on anything but the lingering sensation of John's finger against my lips. Then I looked at the puppy.  
  
A lump formed in my throat as I looked down at this little dog, who had no idea what kind of shit her new owners were involved with. She definitely didn't know that I'd already killed the same dog twice. Kind of.  
  
I felt the tears welling in my eyes before I could stop myself, and John leaned back. His eyes glanced at the pillow I’d slept on and I followed his gaze. There was a black stain on the cover.  
  
‘What’s that?’ I asked.  
  
‘Nothing,’ John said, a little too quickly.  
  
I wiped my mouth, and looked at the back of my hand. There was a faint black stain on my skin; it looked like watered down ink.  
  
‘John,’ I said.  
  
‘You’re fine, dude,’ said John.  
  
‘John,’ I said again. ‘What happened to me? Why did you buy me a dog?’ I looked down at myself, and added, ‘Why am I wearing your clothes?’  
  
John narrowed his eyes. ‘You’re fucking with me,’ he said. ‘You really don’t remember?’  
  
I shook my head.  
  
‘Ah, come on, Dave,’ he said. The little dog wagged her tail. ‘Let’s see… you don’t remember going to that house?’  
  
I blinked, then shook my head again. ‘Uh,’ I said. ‘Something… kind of…’  
  
‘The basement?’  
  
I frowned. ‘What basement?’ I asked.  
  
‘Ok-aay,’ John said, leaning against the wall. He put his hands behind his head, and looked me up and down. ‘So you don’t remember our hot makeout last night?’  
  
My cheeks flushed with heat, and I shook my head. ‘What?’ I asked, trying to smile. I choked out a laugh.  
  
John grinned. ‘That was a test,’ he said. ‘You actually just flooded my bathroom because your depressed ass wouldn’t get up off the floor.’  
  
‘Fuck,’ I said. ‘Sorry, John.’  
  
John waved a hand dismissively. ‘What else are friends for?’ he said.  
  
‘Flooding your bathroom?’ I said.  
  
John chuckled. ‘Yeah man, it’s an easy fix,’ he said. ‘Seriously, what’s more important is whatever weird shit went down in that basement. Were you like, a useless lump before that? You shower like a normal person, right?’  
  
I stared at him, once again struggling to figure out what he was actually saying. That happened sometimes, but it usually turned out to be me second-guessing him.  
  
‘Uh… I mean, I’m probably super fucked up John,’ I said. ‘We both are.’  
  
‘Yeah, yeah,’ said John. ‘But last night was different. What the fuck was that?’  
  
‘I don’t remember,’ I said quietly.  
  
The little dog licked my hands.  
  
‘We gotta sort that out then,’ he said. ‘But first, and most importantly…’  
  
I looked at him curiously. He held the pause dramatically.  
  
‘What?’ I asked.  
  
‘What’re you gonna call this puppy?’ 

  
  


As soon as I got out of the bed, I realised that my whole body felt heavy. It was difficult to move; I could feel my lungs as they worked to pump air, and had to think hard about every step I took. My stomach churned, and my head spun, and a moment later I was on the ground.  
  
‘Jesus,’ I heard John say. All I could see was darkness, my face buried in the gross carpet of John’s bedroom floor. Even with my knowledge of what John did in his room, I couldn’t force myself to move.  
  
‘Get up, dude,’ said John. ‘Come on, asshole. Don’t do this.’  
  
I felt his hand on my shoulder, I felt him shake me.  
  
‘Fuck, Dave,’ he said. ‘Fuck.’  
  
I couldn’t say anything. I heard the puppy sniffing around my head, felt her bite my hair.  
  
‘I’m gonna let her pee on you if you don’t get up,’ John said.  
  
I tried. I couldn’t even move my finger. I couldn’t tell John that I was stuck.  
  
That I was fucking terrified.


End file.
